No secrets. We’d agreed. “I had been doing this thing when I got distressed, where I hyperventilate until I sort of…black out.”
“Like pass out? All the way? Unconscious?”
I nodded.
He expelled his breath in a rush. “Okay.”
“And one night, that night, I guess I thought I would take it a step further, with the bag.”
“Corabelle…”
I turned to him, seeing the distress all over his face. “It was okay. My body saved itself. But since then, I just didn’t want the temptation. The risk.”
He brought my fingers to his lips, warm against the chill of my skin. “I’m going to be here from now on.”
“I know. I’ll be fine.”
“When was the last time you did it?”
“The bags? Not since that one time.”
“The blacking out.”
My chest hurt so much more with his question. To lie? Or tell the truth? “Friday.”
“Here? In the hospital?”
“Yes.”
He held my hand in both of his now, his head bowed as if he couldn’t bear to look at me.
“I’m sorry if I seem too crazy. I get it if it’s too much for you.”
His grip on me was so tight, like he was hanging on to the last rope before being cast out to sea. “You’re not too crazy. Whatever there is about you, I accept it. We’ll work it out. We’ll figure it out.”
My belly heaved with the release of all the emotion I’d held so tightly inside. “I love you, Gavin. I don’t know how I got through those years without you. I should have looked for you. I should have known where you’d be.”
“You did find me.” He lowered our hands and pressed them to his chest so he could look at me again. His eyes were so blue against the slate walls, bright below the dark mop of hair. I could picture him in every stage of his life, from little boy, to lanky adolescent, to the man I’d surrendered to so many times since we rediscovered each other. “You came right to my door.”
Another knock surely meant my parents were arriving. Gavin took his last private moment with me to lean across the bed and kiss me lightly on the lips. “I’ll love you all your life,” he whispered.
Then the room overflowed with people and flowers and chatter, and once more, life moved forward.
19: Gavin
After Corabelle suggested I head on to class to alleviate the tension in the hospital room with all of us filling the little space, I decided to go ahead and put in a shift at work. And I didn’t care how much grease I had on me, if she called or texted, I was going to answer.
I felt like we’d gotten past some horrible part of our lives, not as awful as with Finn, but just as hard. The past couldn’t get to us anymore. Corabelle would get well and continue class and figure out where she wanted to go to grad school. I’d pluck away at a few more credit hours and transfer to wherever she got in.
The urge to whistle as I stepped off the bike and headed into the garage was surprising and a relief. I hadn’t felt so light, like things were going my way, since high school.
Bud looked up from his desk as I entered the front office. “How is she?”
“Out of ICU. Not great, but better.”
“That’s a relief.”
I sensed he had something else to say, so I hung back a moment, waiting for a mother and her little girl to pass by and head out the door. No one else was in the waiting area.
Bud leaned back in his oversized office chair, which tilted perilously under his ponderous weight. He wasn’t wearing overalls today, but a beige snap shirt and khakis. He must not have intended to pitch in with the grunt work today.
He rubbed his chin, bristly with a five o’clock shadow that seemed to spring up by ten a.m., a source of jokes among the crew. “So, how long did you say you’ve known this girl?”
“We grew up together.”
“Ah. Makes sense. But when did you find her again?”
I dropped my backpack off my shoulder and let it slide to the floor. “A few weeks ago.”
“She the one who’s got you all distracted and out of sorts?”
“Probably.”
“Well, she’s the one then. You know it when you feel it.” He pushed away from the desk. “Rob turned in his notice.”
“Really?” Rob had been the lead mechanic for over a decade.
“His wife’s a nurse and she got a chance to move up at a hospital in LA.”
“Rob in LA.” Rob was a redneck from his John Deere cap to his cowboy boots.
“Yeah, hard to picture.” Bud chuckled. “But that means I’m doing some shuffling. Cade is moving up. So is Mario. I’ve had you doing mechanical already, so I’m officially putting you on the team. Pay goes up three dollars an hour, but you might end up here later than usual if a job goes long.” He reached into a drawer by his knee and tugged out a couple shirts wrapped in plastic. They were navy shirts the mechanics wore, and these had “Gavin” stitched on a patch on the pocket. The maintenance schmoes like I had been didn’t have personalized uniforms, only the crew.
My mind whirred with what this meant. An extra $500 a month meant I could get a bigger place, move Corabelle in, and she could cut back her work hours if she wanted, or else avoid taking out as many loans. I realized I hadn’t said anything. “Thank you.”
Bud handed me an envelope. “There’s papers with insurance stuff if you want to opt in. Just let me know if that hometown girl decides to traipse you off across the country.”
“Will do.”
I shoved the shirts and the forms under my arm and headed to the garage to change and stash my gear.
When I came out, Mario whistled. “Look who’s got some real duds.” He clapped me on the back. “About time you got the chance to screw up something bigger than air filters.”
“I hear the shit floated to the top yourself,” I said.
Mario laughed. “It did indeed.” He unpacked a radiator hose from a box. “Now I get to tell you what the hell to do.”
“And I’ll tell you where to go.” I moved down the row of bays. “Seems quiet for a Monday.”
“Give it time. The cold this morning means everyone was too lazy to come in early. Every clunk from the weekend will be showing up here by lunch.” Mario stepped up to a Pathfinder and leaned over the radiator. “Someone brought in a Suzuki that cuts out at low RPMs. Why don’t you go take a look at it?”
Huh, diagnostic. That was a first. In the few weeks I’d been doing more than tire rotations and oil changes, Bud had mostly handed me jobs that were already set. Motor mounts. Belts. Hoses. Radiator flush. Having to actually figure out a problem was a welcome change to sitting uselessly in those hospital chairs.
I fired up the bike, noticing the difference in vibration and power from my Harley. Sure enough, no more than a few seconds in, it started missing. I revved it up and it smoothed out, but as it eased down, the motor hitched again.
Rob came over, tugging on his cap. “You got a theory?”
I killed the bike and stepped away to shake his hand. “I hear you’re heading out soon.”
Rob shifted a meaty wad of tobacco along his gum. “Yup. The lady is moving up, and I’m going along for the ride.”
“Good for her.” I turned back to the Suzuki. “Well, first I’d increase the idle. Maybe it got bumped. Then I’d say either the carb has crud, the petcock is clogged, or maybe the choke is stuck.”
Rob sniffed. “All good ideas, but extra work. Start easy. Drain the gas and put in a gallon of fresh. I’ll come back around after you do that.”
I shrugged and went to the wall to find a siphon.
The garage was quiet after the roar of the Suzuki. The fuel decanted into a jug, and I searched around for the gas container we kept on hand. It was pretty hilarious how often a car got towed in for repair when all it had was an empty tank, and sometimes, a faulty gas gauge.